


Battle Scars

by illyrian_bitch_queen



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Battle, F/M, Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 17:30:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9452318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illyrian_bitch_queen/pseuds/illyrian_bitch_queen
Summary: In the midst of a battle between the Spring Court and the Night Court, Feyre tries to reach her mate, but is slowed down by the brutal fighting between them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was from an anonymous request on tumblr
> 
>  
> 
> **Some blood and graphic descriptions of wounds**

My sword crossed with another as I lunged forward, trying to make my way back across the field to where Rhys was fighting. I gritted my teeth in irritation as I was faced with another opponent standing between my mate and I.

I raised my eyes from the crossed blades to see a familiar pair of green eyes. I sucked in a breath and both of our swords fell out of instinct at seeing the other. Mine went back up before Tamlin’s had even relaxed fully. He blinked in surprise to see me holding my weapon against him. I narrowed my eyes.

I had been hoping to catch him off guard, to confront him in front of his court, when people would notice. Not when we were buried so deep in the fighting that nobody even recognized that I had been cutting down Tamlin and Hybern’s men and not Rhys’ or Tarquin’s.

“Feyre,” Tamlin said, frowning. “What–”

I moved before he could finish, feeling a tug on the bond. Rhys was waiting for me. He knew that I had been on my way to him, that something was holding me up. I flashed a memory at him of just a second ago so that he could see just what I was facing as I swung my sword for Tamlin’s neck once, my blade glancing off of his as he defended himself in shock.

Concern drifted to me so clearly that I almost sighed, feeling as though he was standing right beside me. I had been in Tamlin’s court for months, sleeping in his bed and kissing his lips to make him believe that, when a fight eventually came, I would fight with him. Instead, I was slaughtering his men without hesitation, and I had been feeding him lies about the Night Court for the months I was there, returning intel about the Spring Court’s plans and weaknesses to my mate through a messenger sent back and forth between courts by Azriel.

And dammit, I missed my mate. But now that he was within my reach, Tamlin was once again keeping me from him.

_Not this time._  

“Get out of my way,” I snarled. “I’m giving you the choice now. Either get out of my way or I’ll make you regret it. Choose wisely. The only reason I’m giving you a chance at all is because I cared for you once. But that time had passed, and don’t mistake my mercy for foolishness. I will kill you if you don’t get out of my way so I can go to my mate.”

His eyes widened with every sentence, and I was getting a kick out of it internally. On the outside though, I kept my face dark and still as I glared into his eyes.

His face was pained in a way that almost hurt me. A lingering emotion from the part of me that used to love him, too weak to affect me, was hurt by his pain. But every other part of me was on fire with the rage that his presence inspired in me.

“Your mate–Hybern broke the bond. He’s not your mate. You don’t have to go to him.”

I snarled at the words, the lie he was spewing. Rhys is my mate. He’s always been my mate. He always would be. No damn king could change that. I looked over Tamlin’s shoulder and I saw Rhys tossing wary glances at me as he fought a few of Hybern’s men, all equipped with those wicked blue stones, weakening the magic used against them.

“No,” I finally said to Tamlin, smiling. “No, I don’t have to go to him. He’s always given me that choice, the one you never gave me. I don’t have to go to him. But I’m going to. Because I want to, and because I love him.”

And I dove at him, slashing my sword across his unprotected side, slicing into skin that his armor left bare. He growled out, leaping back just in time to avoid serious damage. I just smirked at him as I danced around him on the balls of my feet, remembering the advice Cassian had given me when I ran into him before even taking three steps into the fray.

_Keep moving. You’re smaller than most of your opponents. You can move faster. Just keep moving, and move fast. Don’t give them time to catch up. And don’t get too focused on one opponent, keep an eye on everything around you. They’re not going to make this fair for you and come one at a time. Be careful, Rhys will kill me if you get hurt after I left you alone._

The last part wasn’t particularly motivational, but the rest had been flashing through my mind very few moments. I took a moment to check around me, jumping aside as Tamlin swung his sword for my legs. I spun to try and get to his side again, but he turned with me and I caught his sword with mine. I bared my teeth at him over our crossed blades.

“Do you regret not training me yourself yet?”

He hissed at me, thrusting his blade outwards and jostling me back away from him. I just laughed. “Maybe if you had agreed to teach me to fight, to control my magic, I would be fighting with you in this battle instead of against you.”

I caught Rhys’ gaze a few times through the steadily emptying field, making sure he knew that I was managing to enjoy myself, taunting and toying with the man who had turned me into a damn doll.

Tamlin was making a valiant effort, but he didn’t really want to hurt me, while I _certainly_  wanted to hurt him. I had the advantage.

Or, I did until I forgot one of Cassian’s main warnings.

Tamlin snarled now, lunging for me sloppily. I dodged without a second thought, raising my own weapon for his unprotected back as I danced around him. And then my sword hit the ground, my fingers going limp at the pain that was suddenly tearing through me.

It felt like a blunt object laced with fire had been plunged into my back hard enough to split or burn through my skin, parting and tearing tissue and bone as it tore through my body. I screamed as it began to burn, starting where the object was still moving through my body and spreading until the agonizing pain had reached from my feet to the tips of my pointed ears.

Tamlin spun around and reached for me, dropping his weapon, as my knees went out and the object finally broke through my body and protruded out through my stomach.

A scream ripped up through my throat again when his hands caught my arms, jostling what I now recognized as a wooden staff that had been plunged through my body.

Ash wood.

I tried to grab it, tried to push it back out of me, trying frantically to end the burning that was slowly overtaking my body. But the flames became even worse when I touched it, and I screamed again.

Tamlin tried to say something to me, but his words were drowned out by the vicious roar that ripped through the field, the echo to my scream, freezing all the fighters still standing. The sounds of battle stopped as a steady, rumbling growl began.

_“Get your hands off of my mate.”_

_Rhys_. I moaned, lifting my head to look up at him as he made his way through the crowd that had began to form around us as soon as my mate had roared his fury across the field.

His eyes were dark with fury but softened when they met my gaze. “Rhys,” I choked out, lifting a hand in his direction. The movement burned, sending the poison from the ash through my system even faster. It felt like my blood was boiling in my veins, my flesh burning and crisping.

Was this how those fae I’d killed in Amarantha’s court felt before they’d died?

“ _Feyre_ ,” Rhys rumbled, his voice deeper than I’d ever heard it, filled with pain and fury.

His eyes were darker than they’d ever been too, the violet deepening into a color closer to black than I thought they may have ever been. As I met his eyes, I felt as though the burning had faded a bit, making it almost bearable.

“Cauldron, Rhysand,” Tamlin said, his words barely making it through the fog on my mind that was beginning to lift as the pain became less severe. “I don’t think I’ve seen you so close to shifting since the day you slaughtered my family.” His words were barbed and poisonous. I groaned and tried to shove away from the arms holding me, but it was a futile effort that sent pain ricocheting through my body again. I saw Rhys flinch as though feeling the pain himself. I stilled.

Then I realized that the pain had eased when I met his eyes. It wasn’t just the comfort of seeing my mate that was making this easier. He was taking the pain from me, absorbing it into himself.

He was splitting it between us so that it was bearable for us both. So that we could both remain strong, even if we were hurting.

I took a shallow breath, glancing down at the end of the staff. Rhys followed my gaze, and the shadows curling around him lashed at the air towards Tamlin. But his eyes weren’t on the man holding me anymore.

“ _You little bitch_ ,” he swore, taking a step forward. The shadows moved with him, dancing around like it was starving for violence.

I heard a sharp gasp behind me, but I couldn’t turn. It hurt too much to even breath now, as blood began welling up behind my lips.

If I didn’t get the ash wood out of me soon, I was going to die.

_“You did this. You hurt my mate.”_  

He took another step forward, bringing himself almost within my reach. I whimpered at the proximity. All I wanted was him, before the pain broke down my mind and made me lose consciousness. I wanted to be in my mate’s arms. We’d been separated too long now.

But he passed by me, his eyes locked on whoever was behind me. Whoever had forced that wood through my back. I cried out, reaching for my mate pleadingly. My fingers caught the shoulder of his fighting leathers and I tried to grip it. My fingers slipped away from the surface, but he stopped anyway, his face anguished at it turned to me.

He waved a hand once behind me, and I heard a choking noise and then silence. Tamlin gasped. Rhys had killed whoever had attacked me. He had done it quickly, giving up the wicked plans I knew he had for vengeance to go to my side instead. He snarled at Tamlin, who tried to pull a weapon from his belt. He twisted so that he was between Rhys and I, but I crumpled to the ground at the white hot agony that the sharp movement wrought.

Tamlin, not prepared for my weight to drop, cried out when the ash wood brushed his hand as I slipped through his grip.  And then he was gone from my side, hurtling through the air and across the field.

I screamed again as my knees hit the ground. My body began to topple forward, the wood still sticking out of my stomach by at least two feet, and my back by one.

Before I could collapse fully, a pair of familiar hands caught my shoulders, knees hitting the ground before me. Rhys.

“Feyre,” he said, his voice catching as he gathered me up against his chest, careful not to jostle the wood, so soaked with my blood that I couldn’t discern what color it had been originally. He looked down at the wound carefully before pressing his lips together tightly, looking around frantically before his eyes caught on something.

“Mor,” he cried out. “We need to get her to the Dawn Court. They can treat Ash wounds better than anyone in Prythian.”

“We don’t have time,” Mor hissed, coming up to crouch beside us. I lifted my eyes to her, but was losing energy quickly now that was no longer fighting to get to my mate. He was here now. It was alright.

I let my head fall, my forehead resting on his shoulder. I tried to take a deep breath to steady myself, but choked and coughed on the blood that had began to trickle up and seep out from between my lips. “Feyre,” Rhys said, his voice pleading. “Please, keep your head up. I need to make sure you’re still awake. Talk to me.”

His cool, comforting fingers slipped under my chin, lifting my face to his carefully. I saw his eyes widen when he saw the blood lining the seem of my lips. I tried to swallow it back, trying to keep him from panicking, but it caught in my throat. I coughed, turning my face down sharply so the blood splattered against his fighting leathers instead of his skin.

“Mor,” he cried. “We have to do something!”

“You need to stay calm,” Azriel said from somewhere behind Mor. “You need to relax for her. If you panic, she’ll panic.”

I wanted to tell him that I wasn’t a child, influenced by the reactions around me, but he was right. My mate’s panic would always affect me, just as all of his emotions did.

And the burning was getting worse. “Alright,” Rhys said, his voice calmer now. “Alright. What do we do?”

“Once we get the ash out, she should start healing,” More said gently.

“If it hasn’t splintered inside of her anywhere,” Azriel added.

Mor hissed at him. “I was trying to be soothing, Az.”

A tiny, nonsensical laugh bubbled out of me, and blood spilled from between my lips a bit faster. “How do we get the wood out?” Rhys asked urgently.

There was silence. I groaned as the pain suddenly increased into an inferno before being swept away, back to the steady burn it had been before. But Rhys was tenser now, and his next words came from between clenched teeth.

“It’s getting worse. We need to try something.”

“Okay,” Mor said, her voice picking up a demanding tone. “We should cut it shorter so that when we pull it out, it won’t last so long.”

I moaned at the thought of the wood, which already felt like it was a fire licking at the edges of my wound, being pulled through me. And worse was the thought of it being shifted around while they cut it, and it staying in there any longer. I just needed it _out_.

“Please,” I whispered against Rhys’ shoulder. “Just get it out. It hurts.”

Rhys’ hands tightened around me as Mor and Azriel continued to discuss how they could get it out and cause the least pain. And how they could touch the wood at all to get it out in the first place.

“Fuck this,” he growled against my neck. “I’m sorry.”

His words were the only warning I had before I felt him slip through the crack I left for him in my shields. _Rhys?_  

But before I could ask why he had decided to enter my mind, I felt him take hold of something, and then I lost grip on the world around me, slipping into unconsciousness. The last thing I felt was his cool hand pressing against my cheek.

**

**Rhys**

As soon as she fell limp in my arms, I released her cheek. I held her up with a hand on her shoulder and kissed her still lips once before pulling back.

“Mother forgive me,” I murmured. I heard Azriel cry out as he looked back at me finally to see what I was about to do.

The wood stuck out further in the front. It was blunt, and the wound was ragged from the force it took to tear through my mate’s flesh. Ianthe had shoved it into her while her back was turned, certainly using all the strength she had to make the staff, carved elaborately and wickedly, cause so much damage.

I had killed her too quickly. She deserved to suffer for all that she’d done, but I refused to let her punishment come before my mate’s health.

I knew that this would probably hurt Feyre, even though I’d taken her consciousness away.

She would wake again, I assured myself. I hadn’t just taken our last few minutes together by knocking her out. I had just made her recovery easier on her.

I prayed to the Mother that I wasn’t lying to myself.

And then I wrapped my free hand around the wood, hissing at the burn it caused almost immediately, and yanked.

Mor shouted at me as I pulled, but I didn’t look at her. I just shut my eyes tightly, trying to block out the sickening noises that the wound made as I pulled the wood from it.

It didn’t come all the way out, and I had to pull again, twice more before it left her body. She had begun screaming when I was halfway through, and she hadn’t stopped since. I was groaning myself at the burning in my hand. The flesh was hissing and smoking, and I wondered absently if the wounds would scar.

The pain had brought her back to consciousness, loosening the little block I had put in her mind to keep her under.

As soon as the wood had pulled out of her body completely with one last sickening, wet noise, I dropped it with a hiss before pulling her to me, gathering her into my chest as she wailed.

I repeated a prayer to the Mother and the Cauldron that Feyre would forgive me for the pain I’d just put her through, but I prayed even more strongly that she would begin to heal now that the ash was gone. It would have spread through her system quite a bit by now, slowing her healing even though the source of the poison was gone now.

I pulled her tight to me now that the wood was no longer hindering our movement, my lips moving against her hair. My hands pressed flat against her back, one of my palms still stinging like I’d stuck it into a fire.

Her screams had died and now she was just sobbing, her fingers clutching desperately at anything she could grab, my shoulders, my clothes, my hair.

I could feel the agony traveling across the bond, and I wanted to take the pain from her, but needed to be able to know if it was easing. I couldn’t do that if I messed with what she was feeling now.

“Rhysand, you fucking prick,” Mor hissed. She still crouched at our side, but now she was staring at my mate in horror. “What if there’s still ash in her? You just _yanked_  on it!”

“I know,” I whispered, burying a hand in my mate’s hair. I could have just killed her. These could be the last seconds that I would ever hold her while her heart beat.

I took a shuddering breath, shifting Feyre in my arms so that I could look down at her. She had her cheek pressed against my shoulder, face buried in my neck. She was still crying, but she was still breathing too. And, if I wasn’t imagining it…her pain had lessened. I begged every single one of the ancient gods I knew, mortal and fae alike, to keep her alive, to take this agony from her.

I leaned down and pressed my lips against her cheek. “Please be alright,” I whispered against her skin. “Please, love. I need you to be alright.”

I felt Feyre breathe a bit more sharply against my neck, as if she was scoffing at me. But she didn’t say anything. I curled around her anyway, holding her tighter to my chest.

I knew that I was crying. I think the tears had started at that first wail she’d released after waking, when I was forcing that wicked weapon back through the still ragged wound. “I’m sorry,” I whispered into her hair. “By the Cauldron, Feyre, I’m so sorry.”

I felt her shift against me, then heard her groan. I focused in on the bond again, trying to decide whether her pain seemed weaker because she was growing weaker herself, or because the wound was healing. I raised my eyes from my mate to meet Mor’s eyes. She allowed me into her mind without any fuss, knowing what I wanted.

Looking through her eyes, I waited a moment for her focus to leave me and go to Feyre’s back, where the staff had been forced into her body. She stepped closer so I could get a better look at the wound without moving myself.

She was dressed in ridiculous clothes for fighting. They offered no protection at all. But it could have been worse. A tunic and pants, at least, was better than one of the ridiculous dresses Tamlin liked to dress her in. At least this outfit didn’t hinder her movement.  

I slipped out of her mind when I tired of looking over the mess that obscured her wound from sight. Torn cloth and blood kept me from seeing anything clearly. I looked up, with my own eyes, to see how many people were still around, and was faced with only my inner circle.

“We cleared the field as soon as she went down,” Cassian reported. He and Azriel were both down on one knee by Mor, who stood watching Feyre carefully. Amren stood just behind her, back to us as she watched our surroundings for danger.

Her High Lady and High Lord were weakened, and she would defend them, I realized.

And then I focused back on my mate, comfortable now that I knew I trusted everyone around us. I pulled her away from me a bit, and felt her fingers tighten against the back of my neck where she’d settled them. “It’s alright,” I whispered to her as she tried to fight me. “I’m just checking your stomach out.”

To my surprise, she let out a sharp breath, something close to a laugh, and allowed me push her away a bit. “Huh. Usually you’re trying…to check out my breasts, not my…stomach,” she murmured, stopping to pause for breath every few words.

I laughed shakily, relieved that the pain must be dimming if she was able to make a joke. “I can check those out too, if you want.”I heard Amren make a noise at the back of her throat and couldn’t tell if it was laughter or disgust.

I reached for the fastenings on Feyre’s tunic, needing to get the fabric away from her wound so I could see clearly.

I glanced up only once to make sure my brothers weren’t watching us, unsure how much she may be covered under the tunic. Their eyes were directed respectfully behind us, watching for approaching enemies and keeping their attention very thoroughly away from Feyre as I pulled the stiff, blood-soaked tunic from her body.

Thankfully, she had tight fabric bound around her chest, the way she usually did for any kind of training or fighting.

I eased her back now that I was more comfortable that Cassian and Azriel wouldn’t accidentally see more than was appropriate.

Feyre’s face was twisted with pain still as I laid her back on the bloody grass below us. Her hair, which had been foolishly loose, was now coated with blood from where I’d run my hand through it. I grimaced at the red stains I had left.

Her wound was still open and bleeding, but the blood seemed to be moving slowly now.

I sighed, still wiping the excess blood away from her skin carefully so I could get a better look. The edges were jagged and split, which may be a hindrance for her healing and a dangerous trap for infection.

I looked carefully at the wound for any signs of wood pieces. Even a sliver could slow her healing dangerously.

“Cassian,” I said sharply. “Check the staff for any missing pieces or nicks that may have split off.”

He bowed his head and went to the staff, flicking his hand deliberately to make his armor shift up into a thick metal glove over his hand. If I’d been smart, I would have remembered that Azriel could do the same thing, and could have pulled the wood out without burning himself like I’d done.

I cursed at myself for allowing my fear to take control of me so thoroughly. “It doesn’t hurt so much  now,” Feyre whispered.

I looked back at her face, and her eyes were locked on mine. She smiled tensely. I moved to the side so that I could lean forward and press a kiss to her lips. She kissed me back weakly, but reached out with one bloody hand to clasp mine. I squeezed her fingers as she took a deep breath. Her chest heaved as the breath caught in her lungs, but it was only for a moment before she was breathing steadily again.

Her eyes hadn’t looked away from mine, the storm-cloud gray darker than usual. Her eyelashes still fluttered with every breath she took, and I could feel pain seeping across the bond. But she was becoming stable.

“Thank the mother,” I sighed, dropping my head to put my forehead against her shoulder. After a moment, a slender hand had come up to rest on the back of my head, fingers sifting through my hair–too long now, as I hadn’t bothered to have Mor cut it since the war began, since Feyre had been taken from me again.

Her fingers worked through my hair soothingly, even as they shook slightly. “I love you,” I murmured into the bare skin of her shoulder. “By the Cauldron, I love you. I love you so fucking much, Feyre.”

She murmured the words back to me, her fingers still shifting in my hair, as if she needed to feel something solid, something she knew.

“It’s in one piece,” Cassian said. I lifted my head to see him holding the staff in one tight fist, kneeling by Feyre’s other side. “I don’t see anything concerning.”

I couldn’t help my snarl. Ash weapons were despicable. And it was a filthy, dishonorable action for a fae to bring ash into battle. Especially a High Priestess. “What do you want me to do with it?” my brother asked, the same fury making his tone bitter.

I curled my lip. “Burn it,” I hissed as I felt Feyre curl away from it, turning her head sharply to look away.

Cassian’s eyes widened. “Rhys. This is one of the weapons that the High Priestesses have been protecting since–”

“I don’t give a fuck what it is,” I growled. “It was a High Priestess that just ran it through my mate’s body. As far as I’m concerned, if the High Priestesses wanted to keep their artifacts in good hands, they shouldn’t have let that bitch become a priestess in the first place.” I leveled my gaze on Cassian’s. “Burn the fucking thing or I’ll do it myself as soon as Feyre’s up.”

Cassian bowed his head and moved away. I looked back down at Feyre as Amren took Cassian’s place beside her. She put her hand on my mate’s shoulder, heavy rings glinting in the lingering sunlight.

“We should go back to Adriata,” she said lowly, naming where we had remained for two weeks in preparation for this battle. Tarquin had offered his city as a base for the battle as it was closer to the fighting that was to take place in the Spring Court.

Right now, we were in the area where Calanmai was held. It was the most well known part of Tamlin’s territory, as fae of all courts had visited on several occasions for the celebrations. It was a good place for a battle because it kept Tamlin’s forces from having the advantage of knowing the area better.

I knew Feyre recognized the area by the sly smile she’d given me across the field earlier.

The first time we met had been here, at this place. The first time I’d been able to hear her voice, feel her skin under my hands.

I trailed a hand down her cheek, grimacing at the trail of red that I left on her skin. Her face was already splattered with blood from the soldiers she’d cut down and from the blood that she had coughed up, but I felt no need to add more. She didn’t seem to mind though, and her hands left streaks of blood on my arm when they gripped it, eyes flickering to Amren.

“Alright,” I finally said, dipping my head to her. “Are the rest of the troops there?”

My second nodded. “The battle was won. There were casualties, but they were far greater on the other side than ours. Tamlin fled before any of us could find him. You shouldn’t have thrown him so far,” she critiqued. I shrugged. Somehow, that hadn’t concerned me near as much as my mate bleeding out had.

I gathered Feyre up in my arms, wincing as she groaned. I was certain that her wound would heal slowly, and would remain painful for quite a while. I whispered an apology to her again as I lifted her as gently as I could manage.

Placing my hands under her was more awkward than I would have liked to admit. Usually, carrying her was easy and comfortable. Now, the injury on her lower abdomen was keeping me from being comfortable with her in my arms. Every time I moved, I feared that I was jostling her injury.

With one arm under her knees and the other supporting her upper back, I called Cassian over. He had been watching a small fire, his eyes not straying to the bodies scattered around us. Some were Illyrian, some Night Court High Fae and some were Hybern or Tamlin’s men. Thankfully, I didn’t see many wings draped over the field, nor the dark armor my fae wore to battle. It was mostly the Spring Court’s thin golden plates that I saw bodies encased in.

My commander kicked at the flames briefly, checking to be sure the wood was in ashes now, before coming over to us.

He dipped his head towards Feyre, who was watching him curiously despite the pain I felt echoing through the bond. “My lady,” he said, half respectfully and half playfully, as though he was teasing her with the title, but still meant it.

She scoffed, tilting her head so that it was leaning against my shoulder. “We’re going back to Adriata,” I told him. “Do you need to see to the Illyrians?”

He shook his head. “I spoke to them before they left. They’re gathering where we told them before.”

I nodded. “Alright. Grab my arm and I’ll take you to Adriata with us then.” Azriel had already taken Mor’s hand and winnowed away, and Amren was making her way around the field, mentally taking down the names and faces of our fallen soldiers.

She would have a list for me within a few hours, as she always did.

Cassian gripped my shoulder tightly, winking at Feyre playfully when she shifted her head away from his hand when his fingers accidently got a grip of her hair. “That hurt,” she grumbled at him, although I knew it probably hadn’t been much more than a little pull before he’d corrected his grip. I chuckled at them as Cassian stuck his tongue out.

“Baby,” Cassian teased.

Feyre huffed, grinning over my shoulder at my wings. “Please, Illyrians are the biggest, most sensitive little babies I know.”

Cassian shook his head. “Illyrians are vicious. We beat the shit out of each other for fun. Even _literal_  Illyrian babies are tougher than you.”

I sowled at him warningly. “Don’t provoke her.”

She smirked at me, waggling her fingers as I pulled my wings back out of reach of her wicked fingers. “You’re tough until someone gets ahold of your wings.” She winked back at him, wiggling her fingers to ensure he got the idea.

Cassian made a choking noise as he finally caught onto what we were really talking about. “By the Cauldron, I hate you two.” But he was laughing, and so was Feyre when I winnowed us away.

**

Tarquin met us at the main doors to his palace. He had servants and healers ready, and I thanked him as he led me through the halls to the infirmary.

It was small, as most High Fae infirmaries were. There usually wasn’t much to be done other than magic. Most wounds healed quickly enough that no bandage or medicine was required. Feyre’s, however, would need both. Ash wounds and injuries inflicted by certain lesser fae were the rare cases where a High Fae’s wound had to heal mostly on their own.

I stayed by Feyre’s side as the healers checked her wound, cleaning it and carefully searching for any leftover slivers of ash. Her jaw was clenched as they did, fingers tightening almost painfully on mine.

I eased the pain for her, and left just enough that if something went wrong they would know.

When they finally finished prodding at her, they carefully applied some kind of cream that they said would help draw out the last of the ash wood’s poison and asked me to lift her a bit so that they could wrap thick bandages around her waist, from her hips to just under her breasts.

I released the hold I had on her pain when it faded, with the medicine’s help, to just a slight ache.

We stayed still for a few long minutes as she took a moment to breathe, her chest moving slowly as she calmed herself. She looked up at me as she pushed herself up on her elbows.

“So, if you were ever planning on getting stabbed in the gut with ash wood, I would advise against it,” she said light-heartedly. “It’s a pretty shitty experience. I mean, I feel like it probably builds character though.”

I looked at her incredulously. She was joking about this? I reached for her, and she lifted herself up so that I could put my arms around her and pull her into my lap.

“I was terrified today, Feyre,” I whispered against her hair, tucking her into my arms. She was sideways on my lap, her ear pressing against my chest just over my heart. Her fingers were splayed over my shoulder and her eyes had closed. “I thought that I was going to lose you when I saw what she’d done to you.”

“But I’m alright now,” she murmured into my chest. “I’m safe. And we can finally be with each other again.” She sucked in a deep breath, taking in my scent as I’d been doing with hers since the healers had washed enough blood off of her that I could smell her again.  “By the Cauldron, I’ve missed you.”

I hummed in agreement, kissing the top of her head. “I’ve spent the past months miserable without you. I don’t know how I ever lived without you before, but I could never do it again.”

“Good,” she answered, her voice soft and lovely. “Because I couldn’t either. I dreamt of you every night, thought of you every few minutes. I couldn’t laugh or smile properly without you there with me. It took me half of the night just to get to sleep without you in the bed beside me.”

I let out a gentle breath, tightening my arms around her carefully, so I didn’t disturb her still painful wound. “You know how many times I’ve fought with Cassian since his wings finished healing, just to curb my temper? I even picked a fight with Amren while I was waiting for him to heal. I couldn’t help the nervous energy that kept building up inside of me with every second that I couldn’t see you, couldn’t touch you or be there for you. I was so scared that something would happen to you, and I wouldn’t be there in time.”

She smiled as she looked up at me, placing a slender hand over the bandages on her stomach. “But you were there in time. You saved me. And I know you’ll always be there for me.”

I frowned, even as her words, her faith in me, sent a warm rush through my body, originating at my heart. “Of course I will be. I love you, Feyre.” I leaned down to press a kiss to her lips, only stopping when she tried to escalate it, and winced at the pain in her stomach. “Although,” I added with a trace of humor, “let’s not keep testing it, alright? I’d really hate it if you started running around trying to get people to stab you just so that you could prove that I’d save you.”

She chuckled, burrowing her face into my neck with a sigh. “I love you, Rhys,” she said softly, her voice a near-whisper. My chest seemed to pulse with warmth again at the words, the bond between us feeling even stronger now than it had ever been.

“I love you, too,” I whispered back, wrapping my arms tighter around her.

We stayed wrapped up in each other’s arms all through the night, up until the next morning, watching the colors of the rising sun stretch across the room, bathing us in the light of a new day.


End file.
